Of Living
by LinSetsu
Summary: Takes place after episode 2. Lyle goes home to think - about the events of the day and more. AU series.
1. Of Lies and Living with it

**A/N: **I began posting this in the LiveJournal community a few weeks ago and decided to share it here too. It was originally planned as a three part series, but I kind of got carried away (I blame all the wonderful readers of LJ), so it's gotten a bit longer. Anyways, it is an** AU**, and there will be some **spoilers** for those who have not yet seen the latest episodes of Gundam 00 Second Season.

**Of Lies and Living with it**

It was well passed midnight by the time Lyle Dylandy returned to his apartment in one of the shabbier areas of the city. Other than the striped cat of his next door neighbour, sat perched on the stairs and watching him with gleaming eyes, he met no one on his way from the garage to his door. Deftly, he unlocked it and stepped inside into a blackness darker than the night.

He didn't feel like turning on the lights. There was nothing new to see anyways. No one had tampered with his door and the security chip that he always kept concealed in the entrance remained deactivated. Slipping out of his shoes, he made his way into the combined kitchen and living room, shrugging off the coat and leaving it draped over the back of his well-worn couch. Side-stepping a bin, he opened the fridge door, momentarily casting a dull light on the furniture of the room, and took out a bottle of beer.

With the fridge once again closed, Lyle padded back to the couch and sat down, popping open the lid of his drink and taking a long draught. He sighed, briefly closing his eyes and rubbing his brow with a free hand as he thought over the unexpected events of the day.

Celestial Being. Gundam Meister. Neil.

_In a battle four years ago. _

He tipped the bottle up again and let the cold liquid run down his throat. It wasn't that he didn't believe the kid. Considering how they had parted and how little contact they had made ever since the terrorist bombing, it wouldn't have been surprising if one or the other no longer lived.

After all, Lyle had always doubted that his twin would continue to receive a normal education and go on with a normal life in a normal company in a normal environment. If he had, Lyle would have laughed.

But no, Neil had learned to fight – well enough to be chosen by the Celestial Being as a Gundam Meister. He had fought and he had died. To change the world, as the kid had put it. For what purpose? To avenge their family?

After a third draught, the bottle was empty. He got up and fetched himself another. This time, he didn't return to the couch, and instead, walked passed it, to the door that led him to his quarters and his work station. He visited the latter first, fishing into his pocket for the data stick the kid had given him.

The computer started up with a few switches and passwords, and Lyle settled down in the seat. The screen was bright in the dark room, but nothing his eyes didn't adjust to within seconds. He plugged the data in and waited.

True enough, after running a number of powerful scans, all that came up was the data of Celestial Being. So he opened it.

Two hours later, Lyle leaned back and reached for his forgotten beer, only to find it lukewarm. He drank it anyways. The information was interesting. Far more complex and multi-dimensional than anything he had seen in any military organisation, and yet, somewhat simpler than what he had imagined to come from the infamous Celestial Being.

He had paid special attention to Lockon Stratos, as that was what the kid had called him. Neil's former codename. It still left questions unanswered, though. Why him? Just because he was Neil's twin? Or did it have to do with him being a member of Kataron? Did they know what he was capable of doing? His strengths and weaknesses?

"Huh," he muttered, pushing away from the desk. Not that it mattered much. What interested him more was his twin's death. It was mentioned that he was killed by one Ali-Al-Sachez, former leader of KPSA, and responsible for the bombing in Ireland. So his brother's act _had_ been out of revenge.

Neil had always been straight-forward. He could smile and grin and pretend that nothing was wrong, and yet inside, there had always been a core that could never be swayed. He could lie through his teeth and convince even their parents to believe what he said was true, but Lyle knew better. Because there had always been a hard look in his eyes whenever he thought no one was watching. A look that said he knew the implications of lies and his actions and would receive whatever punishment there was to take, alone. Lyle had always pretended not to notice.

He knew that Neil would not have been able to live life knowing that things were _wrong_, that the world was twisted and corrupt – that innocent people were still dying in indiscriminate terrorist bombings.

"Foolish brother," Lyle mumbled as he rose from his seat and made his way to the door. "Sometimes, living in lies is the best way to go about things. If you'd have been able to accept that…"

He trailed off, his hand hovering over the wall. He wasn't really in the mood to see it tonight. Nor any other night for that matter. But his fingers still found the light switch and flicked it on.

For a moment the sudden onslaught of light blinded his expanded irises, but he squinted, and patiently waited for them to adjust. When they did, they landed square on the narrow bed pushed into the far corner of the room. A dim monitor hanging over the bed silently showed the steady, if not relatively slow, heartbeats of the figure occupying it.

Lyle placed the empty beer bottle on the floor by the door and walked reluctantly over to the bed. A man lay motionless, tucked in by a heavy duvet, with only his face and left arm exposed. An IV line was connected to a needle in the crook of his elbow, and another one just below his neck. The minimal rise and fall of his chest was almost imperceptible – something most people would probably miss.

Two years ago, when he had first been dumped with this…_thing_, Lyle had spent several minutes every morning trying to see if he had died yet. It wouldn't have been surprising at all. The man had been in a coma ever since he had first seen him, worse for wear than half the corpses he had seen in his life, and missing half his left leg and the whole of his right arm to boot.

God knew what the Kataron medics had thought handing him such a luggage. What was he supposed to do with a piece of vegetable? The fact that the man looked like an identical replica to Lyle had nothing to do with it.

Lyle chuckled. "Nope, it's got nothing to with it," he claimed. Then he sighed, glancing at the data stick still sitting on the desk.

"They think you're dead, Neil," he informed the comatose man. "What do they want me to do, fall on my knees and mourn, eh, _Nii-san_?"


	2. Of Memories and Living through them

**Of Memories and Living through them**

Deep sleep had not been a part of his routine for months now, ever since that one ambush in Italy, and although he didn't call himself an insomniac yet, there were nights when sleep eluded him altogether. His body had learned to adapt to the minimal hours of rest and his mind took advantage of the wakeful hours, thinking, planning, reflecting, imagining.

Tonight, his mind was in the mood to reflect. As Lyle lay awake in his bed, the covers drawn halfway up his torso and one arm cradling his head, he thought of all the different things he _could_ have – and should have – been thinking over.

There was the issue of the Peacekeepers' increasingly hostile activities and their act of suppression that had occurred just hours ago. There was the recent completion of a new tactical plan in Kataron, scheduled to be launched before the month ended. There was his role as team leader, Jean One. And now, there was the whole issue of Celestial Being trampling onto his already full plate.

He had enough material to keep him occupied for five nights, but oh no, his mind had other ideas, wicked little traitor that it was. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the task at hand, his thoughts would wander, the planning turning into reflecting; reflecting into remembering.

He hated remembering the most. But Lyle had given up fighting it long ago, so tonight, like all those other nights, he gave an aggravated sigh, swore softly into the darkness and then finally closed his eyes, surrendering himself to his memories.

.-.-.

They were eight years old, running up a local hill on a Saturday mid-morning when the snow had melted and two weeks of sunshine and warmth had followed, signalling the start of Spring. Mother had packed two baskets full of sandwiches and cookies and pies, napkins and plastic sheets, drinks and cups aplenty for their long-planned picnic. Father carried a basket in one hand and Amy in the other, keeping the little toddler fascinated by pointing out birds and butterflies and all the different kinds of flowers. Mother was smiling and admiring the wonderful weather they had been graced with occasionally laughing fondly at the antiques of her sons.

He and Neil ran ahead, sweaters already pulled off and tied securely around their waists. After long months of snow and cold winds, feeling the sun on their faces and arms added to their excitement and fuelled their juvenile spirits. They bounded and leapt, chased after each other in games of tag, rolled around in the fresh grass and ran in circles around their parents like sheepdogs.

Soon, they neared the peak of the hill, marked by an ancient oak tree. Baby leaves were starting to sprout, dotting the dark branches with green and casting flittering shadows beneath it. It would be another few weeks until the leaves grew older and larger, strong enough to weather the weather and provide shelter and comfort to those seeking escape from mid-summer rains.

Their eyes met, brimming with glee and laughter, and no words were needed to exchange the challenge that was understood by both in the matter of a heartbeat: _Race you to the top!_

They sprinted, spurred by their parents' cheers of encouragement, short legs a blur of movement, arms swinging, feet pounding against the dry earth, hair lifted by the wind and teeth exposed in identical grins. The ground sloped up in the last rise to the top, and the twins hardly lost any of the momentum as they darted up, matching each other stride for stride until –

Neil sprang ahead, his footsteps light, his balance effortless, first half a stride, and then a stride, running further ahead of Lyle until he could see the whole of his twin's back. For a second, he thought Neil had grown several inches, his limbs longer, his shoulders broader, his body lean and powerful. Moving further and further ahead, disappearing into the distance – and Lyle…Lyle was left behind.

"Beat ya!"

Chest heaving, Lyle doubled over and braced his hands on his knees, sweat trickling down his brow and cooled by the light breeze. Neil, panting and sweating too, stood by the huge trunk of the tree, one hand pressed against the wood, and he wore a grin that reached from ear to ear.

.-.-.

They were nine years old, dressed in shorts and T-shirts for the school's annual cross-country race. The leaves were turning red and yellow, some still hanging by a thread to the trees, but most already fallen and carpeting the ground in grand autumn colours. The air was cool and the sky cast in cloud. Teachers standing at the checkpoints wore sweaters and long pants, watching the children as they jogged past, occasionally giving strugglers words of encouragement.

_You're halfway there! Keep going, keep running! You can make it! Just a bit more! _

At the start, Neil and Lyle had led at the top of their class, building their pace and never letting it drop during the first steep slope. By the time they veered away from the slope and into a wide curving dirt road in the forest, the grade had split into small groups, divided by several strides or several metres. Several minutes along the road, and then up another gravel slope, followed by four flights of wooden stairs to the halfway point.

Of the five who had made up the leading group, two had fallen behind, leaving the twins and one other boy.

"Say, Lyle," Neil said, as the continued to run along a now flat surface, still in the forest, their feet thumping quietly against damp leaves. "What's for dinner tonight?"

"Mum was making pumpkin soup this morning," Lyle replied. "And fish."

"Mm, yum, sounds good. I can't wait." Trivial talk, just for the sake of breaking the silence.

"Aren't you more interested in the prize for today's run?" the third boy asked, slightly taller than the twins and skinnier.

"Nope," they chimed in unison. Lyle wanted to win, but couldn't care less for prizes. They held no lasting meaning in any case. He wanted to win against Neil. He wanted to make a comeback for that spring day when Neil had beaten him to the hilltop.

He wondered what Neil was thinking. He knew his twin was bored. Neil had never liked competitions. He loved challenges, but hated contests. Was he, too, thinking to beat him? Or was he just really thinking about dinner?

They were nearing a junction, at which point, they'd take a right turn and run along the outskirts of the forest. There was always a teacher standing there, just in case any of the students became lost. Another small turn, and the junction would come into view.

Neil suddenly dropped back. Lyle turned and threw him an incredulous look over his shoulder, his feet slowing somewhat and allowing the other boy, confused as he looked, to take the lead.

"Nii-san?"

"I'll see you at the goal!" Neil shouted, before disappearing into a narrow side-path, leaving Lyle both baffled and annoyed. He knew that path. It wound back to the curving stretch they had covered after the initial uphill climb. What was Neil thinking? Was he running away? Was he going to sneak away and go home early?

Lyle shook his head slowly, answering his own questions. No, he knew Neil was never one to run away, even at the cost of his life. Whatever he was up to, Lyle didn't like it. Without Neil, who was he to compete against? Without Neil, what hurdle was there to jump?

He turned away with a frown and quickened his pace. "Stupid Nii-san."

Lyle won the race a minute and 8 seconds before the skinny boy and beat his own record by 4 minutes and 10 seconds. Ignoring the praise and congratulations from the teachers, he collected his zip-up sweater, sat down on a flat rock with a water bottle in hand and waited for his ragged breathing to calm. His legs felt like lead and his face was hot against the cool air. He was exhausted, having almost sprinted the last two stretches, but far, far from being satisfied.

Neil made the goal 9 minutes and 24 seconds after Lyle as the dead last of their class. Lyle watched him on the last concrete stretch, jogging between a small group of two girls and one boy, who were moving at a grandpa's walking pace. The two chubby girls were almost in tears, and the boy was somehow putting one foot in front of the other while doubled over at the waist and clutching a stitch in his side.

Neil kept talking to the three, running between them, besides them, in front, and in back; he clapped his hands to create a rhythm and then even tried singing a marching song; he pointed out landmarks in the field and gestured to the autumn scenery.

He made sure the three stumbled passed the goal line, gave a great cheer and then hopped passed after them. The teachers were unhappy and made that clear, but Neil just laughed sheepishly and said he hadn't been feeling well. They all knew it was a lie, but there was nothing they could do, so they left it at that.

As the class made way for the next grade, Lyle waited and Neil joined him.

"How'd you do?" Neil asked casually, taking a drink from his bottle.

"I was first," Lyle replied shortly, the frown still pulling at his face. "Nii-san why – "

"That's great! Congratulations!" Neil beamed as he thumped Lyle on the back of his shoulder. "Did you break your record? Yeah? Awesome!"

Lyle looked at Neil, the frown forgotten. His twin was all smiles and joy, his steps marked with a happy bounce. Lyle didn't know what to make of it, so he simply decided that he would win against Neil for sure the next year. And he wouldn't allow him to go back and babysit the stragglers next time.

Only, there hadn't been a next time.

.-.-.

Lyle opened his eyes to avoid seeing the next few memories in full vivid detail. The turning point in their lives – the beginning of new paths – division – silence – all that followed one after another in such quick succession that it was only much later that the realisation dawned. He was alone. The last number Neil had written down for him led to a short, crisp message stating that the phone was no longer in use. His last contact address led to an apartment already occupied by another person.

There had always been times when Lyle wondered about his brother. Where was he now? What was he doing?

Questions that had gone unheeded, unanswered, and eventually not even uttered.

The world had changed. Shadowed deeds had been brought out and dealt with, hidden wars uncovered and brutally squashed. All by the hands of Celestial Being. The world united against them and cut through to victory. They created a new federation and the A-Laws appeared. Kataron was formed.

And Lyle had lost the time to even think about his brother's well-being. Until two and half years ago.

.-.-.

On the 22nd of June, 34 days after a failed mission in Algeria, 31 days since his last call-in, and 29 days late to his scheduled debriefing, Lyle managed to arrived back at their European Base situated along the coast of southern Norway. Despite the early hours of the day, the skies were already light, the sun casting mild rays of dull yellow against the rocky cliffs and grey sea below.

As he stood in the shadow of an outcrop, waiting for his identity to be checked and confirmed, Lyle spent a few quiet seconds listening to the waves as they crashed loudly against the base of the cliffs, rising along the nooks and crevices of the rocks before being pulled down again, only to come crashing back a second later. He imagined the foaming water slithering back into its dark depths. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the summer he'd spent as a kid at the beach in Ireland with his family – memories of a different lifetime.

The heavy, earth-toned door before him gave a soft click, and then proceeded to slowly grind open. Lyle walked in and left the white noise of nature behind outside as the entrance slid shut once more.

He walked through the narrow tunnel, finding his way through the shadow and maze with little trouble, until he came to the central elevator. With a quick password, he took it down, down and further down, deeper into the darkness, into stale air, into chills and heat, into a place that represented more than the sum of what it held.

At times, Lyle wondered if he had made the right choice. One event had led to another, and then another, and another yet, and he had never had the time to stop and think about what he was doing. Or was it because he hadn't _wanted_ to stop and think? Careful consideration implied too many risks. Gut feeling, on the other hand, didn't. Or so he liked to believe.

In the end, though, what did it matter? He was one man among billions of others. His acts alone would not change anything in the world. If he died, there were plenty of others to take his place. So why would it matter where he was and what he was doing?

The elevator jostled to a stop and Lyle stepped out into a brightly lid corridor. The steel-covered walls and florescent lighting was a stark contrast to the rock tunnels at ground-level, but somewhere along the way, he had already gotten used to the change; so well that he hardly even noticed it.

The hallway was devoid of any living presence, save the occasional security cameras hidden in the ceiling, until he accessed one of the many doors to his left and came out into one of the huge chambers, stories high and as big as a football field – the dock.

It was filled with noise, of people, of machines, of droids and carts and whatever else the Kataron members had dragged into the Base, among all mechanics were shouting orders, pilots were checking data, and strategists on break were discussing the latest tactics. Opting to skirt around the hustle of work, Lyle headed across the dock towards the Intel Offices. Idly, he wondered if they thought he was dead yet.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he ran straight into someone – or rather someone ran straight into him.

"Sorry, man – " The blonde broke off his sentence the moment he took his eyes off the clipboard in his hand and looked at the Irishman. Judging from the way the colour drained from his usually tanned face, and his eyes growing wide with disbelief, Lyle assumed he'd already been marked as KIA. Because Lyle knew this guy; they had worked together a few months prior.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Rico," Lyle commented, but his words were drowned out by the other's shout.

"Lyle! What the hell? How the fuck?! You – " He gestured wildly at Lyle's body and swivelled his head in the opposite direction as if he could see something beyond the walls. "You're – !"

"Alive," Lyle finished for the frenzied man. "Calm down, I'm not dead – "

"Of course you're not fucking dead! If you'd have died after my effort to haul you here, I'd resurrect you and kill you myself, but to hell with that! What happened to your arm and leg? How the fuck are you even standing here?!"

_Confounded_ was not worthy a word to describe what Lyle was feeling. He stared blankly at Rico, having not understood a single meaning behind his rambles. Not dead? Haul here? Arm and leg? What?

"Let's speak English here, I think I understand it more than your mother-tongue," Lyle said slowly. Rico was shaking his head from side to side, still pale. "Now let's – "

"Screw that! Come with me!"

The clipboard fell to the floor with a clatter as Rico grabbed Lyle's arm, only to flinch back and look at him uncertainly. Lyle just gave him an _are-you-okay-in-the-mind?_ look, complete with arched eyebrows and cautious expression. And whatever had Rico hesitating apparently disappeared, and although he didn't touch Lyle again, he motioned for Lyle to follow him.

Wanting some answers, Lyle gave a shrug, picked up the clipboard and followed.

They took a detour to the Commander's office – Lyle's initial destination – but he never got to report anything since all he received was a reaction similar to Rico's, and a gun to his head.

"You could be an imposter." Was all the explanation he got.

And _what the fuck is happening_, is all that crossed his mind as he raised his hands in a peace gesture.

They arrived at the Medical Bay after that, where he yet again, received _the reaction_. By this point, he was holding onto his patience by a thread. _What_ had these people _seen_?

Twenty more minutes of incoherent exclamations and nonsense talk followed before they finally let him through to see what had them so nervous (one assistant nurse-girl had promptly fainted upon seeing him).

And _then_, he understood. Rico's words suddenly made sense, the idea to stick a gun to his head became a wise idea, he made a mental note to later ask whether the nurse was alright, because he _understood_, god-dammit.

On the other side of the transparent wall to the intensive care unit lay –

"…Nii-san?"


	3. Of Reflections and Living without them

**Of Reflections and Living without them**

For a long time, Lyle had thought he would never see that face again. Even if he looked into the mirror every morning, there was not a single time that he believed what he saw was _him_. If someone had asked for him to point it out, he would have been at a loss of words, but he knew, just knew, there were many things about him that were distinctly _not_ Neil. To his eyes, he looked as likely to Neil as a black man to a white man.

It had always been beyond him how their school teachers back in Ireland had constantly fallen prey to their pranks of 'switching names'. Even little Amy had been able to tell them apart. Their parents had been a given. But since their deaths, there had yet to be anyone who could. Then again, since their deaths, he and Neil had hardly spent a lot of time together.

His last memory of Neil was of his back as he had walked out of the room, saying he'd be right back. Those days had been filled with darkness and hatred, of nightmares and horrors. There had never been a day when the frozen fury had disappeared from the back of Neil's eyes; never a day when the grief had eased even a little; never a day since the bombing that he had shed a tear.

"_Nii-san, where are you going?" _

"_To the market to buy some chicken for dinner," Neil said without turning around. "I'll be right back, Lyle." _

_The front door closed with a clang. Lyle cast his eyes to the dirty floor and whispered, "I know when you're lying, Nii-san."_

Lyle stared at the face beyond the colourless window. Despite half his face being covered in bandages and a breathing mask secured over his nose and mouth, Lyle knew that this was no impostor or some random guy who looked exactly like him. No, he knew, just like he knew the physical differences between them, that it was Neil Dylandy lying on that platform.

"Lyle, you know him?" The question penetrated the tense silence of the room, but Lyle wasn't focused enough to identify who had spoken.

Did he know him? His first answer was no. He didn't know the man who lay in an obviously critical condition, the damage done to his body in plain sight to all those gathered, highlighted in the sterile healing rays of the intensive care unit. He didn't know the thin and scarred body, the toned muscles despite being wounded and in a state of malnutrition. He didn't know the deep lines etched into his face, the result of long years of seeing something no man of his age should, or the deathly pale hue of his skin. He didn't know the wide chest and broad shoulders, long and lean limbs (or whatever there was left) of this grown man. He didn't know. He didn't know anything at all about this man – about the Neil since their separation years ago.

He _did not know_ this man.

And yet –

"He's my brother," Lyle found himself replying. "Neil Dylandy."

There was no denying the fact. The fact that he knew who _Neil_ was, or at least, what he had been to Lyle. What he still was to Lyle.

He suddenly realised that his hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets, hoping no one had noticed, and turned around to casually lean his back against the glass panel. He didn't want to see. It disturbed him to see him. Not only was he no longer what he remembered, but he looked so lifeless, like a corpse, cold and stiff and bereft of any and all dignity he had once possessed. Devoid of all he had once represented.

Deader than dead. Still alive. Alive after all these years. But still dead to Lyle. Or was he really? He just had no idea _who_ this Neil was and –

"So," he declared loudly, trying to ignore the internal chaos raging in his head, "anyone going to tell me how they found my long lost brother?"

Maybe the forced look of casual amusement managed to fool them, because after a small pause, Rico took up the explanation. Lyle only heard bits and pieces of it, though. He kept falling back into the turmoil and wallowing in it, trying desperately to sort through the jumble of _things_ that were currently ricocheting around his mind.

_It was just yesterday morning__… I noticed blood stains on the rocks leading to the water… You can imagine my shock when I found you – him, whatever – lying there missing an arm and part of his leg… He was still breathing, but barely… the leg, on the other hand, was still bleeding. He'd used some cloth as a tourniquet… and then there was his eye… the next thing I knew, he had me pinned down and was strangling me with one hand… I kept shouting at him, "Lyle, calm down! Lyle!"… I don't think he was very conscious… had me choking before his stamina finally gave up… maybe he recognised your name. 'Cause just before he lost consciousness, I swear he said something like, "Lyle…? Lyle…"_

That night, Lyle found himself standing in the very same observation room, alone save for the darkness.

It had been a long day, filled with explaining and being explained, of being tested for identification and clarifying a great deal of things. By midnight, he had been freed of the last guard set to watch him, and he had planned to just collapse in one of the spare rooms to sleep through until morning, but rest had been a far-fetched dream.

The medics had confirmed that the arm had been lost at least a year ago, if not earlier. The wound had been too old to identify the cause, and they admitted they had been more concerned with stopping the nasty infection that had taken place.

The leg, on the other hand, had been damaged within the last few days, they said. Once within the facility, stopping the blood hadn't been a lot of trouble, but the blood loss had been dangerous. They said it was a miracle he had survived so long without any medical attention.

When Lyle had asked about the cause for the leg, the medic had looked grim and said quietly, "I'm not certain, but it looks like a wound caused by self-amputation."

Lyle hadn't asked any further. The eye remained another mystery. It was assumed to be as old as the lost arm, but the cause was, once again, unidentifiable. The medic had then hastily reassured him that all three of the major injuries could be cured with time once the patient woke up.

It wasn't that Lyle was unhappy seeing his brother again, it was simply too unexpected. He had no words to say to Neil when he regained consciousness. There was too much distance between them and not enough sympathy or understanding to be able to return to what they had been in the past.

Lyle had moved on. He had gotten over the fact that there was no one beside him anymore, to confide in, to turn to, to trust – no one there just for the sake of _being_ there – like Neil had once been.

He had gotten used to being alone. He had run right over several of the hurdles he had previously thought he would always jump. But it made no great difference, for he was merely making his way forward. Differently than what he had imagined as a child, but forward nonetheless – not backwards in the past, not stationary in the now, but _forward_ to whatever lay ahead.

Wasn't it enough?

_W__as it not enough? _

Lyle leaned his forehead against the transparent wall that separated them – just one wall, leaving them so close and almost eternally far away – and sighed.

"Nii-san." He closed his eyes. _Nii-san._


	4. Of Dreams and Living in them

**Of ****Dreams and Living in them**

Out of habit, he woke up at exactly five minutes to six. It was still dark outside, just as it had been yesterday and the day before – just as it would be tomorrow. But today, unlike yesterday and unlike tomorrow, Lyle didn't immediately get out of bed and start the day with little more than a smoke of cigarette. Instead, fighting his body's learned reflexes, he lay still, staring up at the black ceiling and slowly watching it grow tiny shades lighter as the minutes rolled by and the sun began to creep into the sky. With every small detail that was being revealed by the light beyond the window blinds, he observed the room becoming less and less familiar until, by 7:10, he could hardly recognise it.

Somehow, Lyle got the impression that he was never in his apartment during the light of day. He left at dawn, or sometimes before, and only returned once the moon was well in the sky. That was, if he even did come back. It wasn't unusual that he would leave on lengthy missions, vacating the apartment for a few days or a few months at a time.

For that reason, he had been given a continuous supply of IV nutrients and life-supporting medicine that each lasted at least half a year. And if had not reported back by then, it was organised that a Kataron medic would check in on the comatose man lying in the other room.

Up until now, it had never been necessary. But from now…who knew?

The meeting with his Kataron superiors had gone as he had expected. There were always risks – for them and for him – they all knew that, but without those risks, there was no way forward. If all went well, it would be worth it.

He had never considered himself an adventure-seeking man, but the idea of what he was going to be walking into made his fingers itch. It opened up so many possibilities and chances that they had only been able to dream about. It provided him with the means to accomplish what he had set out to do all those years ago.

As a part of Celestial Being, even just in form. As Lockon Stratos.

It was so bizarre and _foreign_ that he almost gave in to the urge to laugh. Instead, he reached over to his nightstand and picked up a pack of cigarettes. The flame of the lighter was a pale flicker against the morning glow.

By 8:00, his back was getting sore from lying down too long. So he finally got up, the cold wooden floor under his bare feet a welcoming chill against his warm skin. Pulling on the nearest pair of jeans and a plain grey T-shirt, he padded out of his room and into the kitchen.

It was like walking in a dream. The room was recognisable, but strange. There were no dark shadows shrouding the walls and furniture, or the glaring bright florescent glare that met him as he entered. The lighting came not from straight above, but in slanted streams from the shaded windows, gentle and soothing on the eyes.

Finding nothing but bottles of beer, some ketchup and a bar of chocolate in the fridge, he went to look in the cupboards above the sink, almost tripping over the bin, to see if he still had some cans stored from the last time he had gone grocery shopping. How long ago that been? Four, five months?

He found some canned fruit, among others, and an unopened bag of coffee powder, and so settled down to his first breakfast in two weeks.

Four hours, two more cups of coffee, a quick trip to the local supermarket for more canned food, and a bit of cleaning up later, Lyle ran out of things to do.

"Says a lot about my life," he muttered to himself as he stopped realigning the cans on the shelf for a third time. He looked around the room again, not as unfamiliar now as it had been in the morning. He stood undecided for a few moments, and then finally resigned himself into entering his work station.

As silently and still as ever, Neil lay in the corner, no different as he had been the day before – as two and a half years ago.

Lyle sat down backwards on his chair, folding his arms on the backrest and settling down to stare at his unconscious twin.

He didn't know which was stronger: the desire to know all about what Neil had been through, had fought for, or the desire to remain ignorant. He didn't want to enter Celestial Being in Neil's footsteps. He was not going for the sake of getting revenge. Lyle had his own reasons, his own motives, his own agenda, and he would not allow them to become compromised for anything – for anyone.

But if he were completely honest with himself, he would admit, that if Neil woke up at this instant, Lyle wasn't sure if he would be able to suppress the part of him that still saw Neil as the pivoting point of his existence; the part of him that was still nine years old, yearning to be all that Neil was; the tiny, hidden part of him that was still trying to figure out the smile on Neil's face and the love in his eyes.

That was a big hypothetical _if_. Because Lyle was rarely honest with himself these days, and therefore, contented himself with believing he wouldn't care in either cases. Sometimes he found indifference to beat even ignorance.

An hour later, Lyle Dylandy walked out of the apartment with a click of the lock closing, leaving it in an almost-silence. The only noise came from a small television screen he had left on his desk, next to the computer. It was channelled to the world news station. He'd once heard somewhere that listening to people talk helped those in coma. And while he wasn't necessarily ignoring the fact that the patient was meant to be personally addressed...it was better than nothing, wasn't it?

.-.-.

_It is dark. Darker than the depths of space, no light, no star; no burning engines of battleships or flares of weapons fired. Silent. So silent there is a ringing in his ears, a product of stimuli-deprived senses, or damaged__ eardrums. White noise echoes faraway, sometimes quiet, sometimes louder, always there but never here. It is called silence. It magnifies the darkness and breathes through the void, an ever-lingering presence. Like the beating of the heart, or the respiration of the body. In, out, in, out, and yet it is not felt. It cannot be felt. _

_Something is__ wrong. He should not be here. He should be…where? Where is 'here'? This emptiness, this void, this_ nowhere. _He cannot feel here. He cannot move. He cannot hold his own breath. Where should he be? In a…a…place, where he is not alone. No, he is not alone. He was not alone. There are others. He is expected. They are expecting him, waiting for him, searching for him. He must return. To that place. To them. To…to do what? It doesn't matter. He has to leave. He has to go. There are deeds left undone, goals left unfulfilled, things left unchanged. _

_He cannot and does not want to stay. This is not where he has chosen to be._

_He cannot leave. He cannot move. _

_It is suffocating. There is no air. The vacuum is sucking everything away – his breath, his blood, his vision, his life, his soul. Cold. Icy tendrils stretch around his body, squeezing and strangling. He wishes it would relieve the pain too. The pain. It hurts. He would scream, but his throat is frozen, his face is stiff. For a second, he swears his heart stops beating, just…_stops. _And there is the silence again. Except, it is only worse. No ringing, because his sensory nerves have ceased to work. They are no longer receiving any stimuli at all. They are dead. _

He _is dead._

_Dead. _

_Dead, b__ut it still hurts. Why does it still hurt? If his nerves have died, what brings the pain to reality in his brain? There is no afterlife. Ghosts and spirits do no exist. Even if they did, they are not real anymore; they are pale, translucent, lacking the solidity that defines objects. They do not feel discomfort, do not feel pain. _

_At times, it is only a thrumming, the brush of flames against his skin, pulsating twinges of pain running with the blood in his veins. Sometimes, it is spikes, coming and going in bursts of white and red. But the worst is when the electric agony courses his body from fingertips to toes, lasting minutes to hours to eternity and leaving him writhing and screaming until his throat his raw and his skin is numb. _

_There are questions and questions but he answers none; they are angry and impatient and still he answers no one; his world is filled to the brim in that never-ending pain and even then, he rewards them with no information. _

_It is cold and wet, the air is heavy and moist, as if being surrounded in water. Water? He tries to breathe and chokes on the liquid that floods his mouth. The salt is spicy on his tongue and stings like needles on the open ends of nerves. It is difficult to move, to swim, the waves are large and merciless, the sea is like ink. He has no momentum when he kicks his legs. Where is the chain that shackles his feet? Where are the eagles that fly by the cracked windows, high, high in that godforsaken prison? _

_He is drowning. He cannot see, the waves keep rolling over him, spinning him round and round until he confuses up with down. Burning. Something is burning, in this throat, in his lungs. He is dying, he realises. _

_But is he not already dead? _

_There are voices, a jumble of noise and sound, nothing more. Where is he? The pain is gone, with it, his last companion. He is alone. An isolated entity in the confines on the human cage. He is trapped. _Trapped.

_They do not realise. He is awake. He is not dead. He cannot move, cannot regulate the workings of his body. But he is_ there. _He is in existence, he can think! A soul without its body. What is a soul without a body? What is a body without a soul? How can one exist without the other when both are needed to define a human being? _

_He curses and trashes, demanding his fingers to move, his eyes to open. They must realise he is here. He can hear them, bits and pieces of sounds making it into words in his confinement: "…coma…chances of recovery…persistent vegetative state..." _

_He dreams. Of the world, of the Earth. Of rapid sequences of blurred movements, of a mechanical voice, of familiar consoles gripped in his hands. Of green, of blue, of purple, of orange. Of tears, of hatred, of curses, of smiles, of wills, of desperation, of determination, of struggle, of struggle, of hope, of – _

_Goddamnit, he has to leave! They are waiting! They are fighting! It is not over._

_It is not over! _

It is not over!

"_Lockon!" _

Deep in the night, in the darkness of the empty room, an emerald-hued eye, dulled with sleep and heavily dilated, slowly cracked open. In the background, a newscaster was speaking in the screen:

"…have breaking news concerning the latest activities of the Gundams…were seen today at…"


	5. Of Realisations and Living after them

**Of ****Realisations and Living after them**

Lyle closed his front door and collapsed back against it with a loud sigh.

He was exhausted – physically and also mentally. His limbs felt like lead and his knees were screaming at him to relieve the pressure. He yearned to simply slide down and fall asleep right then and there. He could even live with skipping his routine of a smoke and a beer.

Five months since being recruited into Celestial Being. Five months of intensive combat and strategic training. Five months of secretly passing information on to Kataron and organising everything so that they could get the maximum benefits out of it. Five months of endless battles against the A-Laws and the Federation. Five months of being passively compared to _the_ Lockon Stratos.

It was enough to make any man want to take a break.

Luckily, Sumeragi had decided they could all spare two days of rest and Lyle had bolted. He needed to get away – from Celestial Being, from Gundams, from Kataron, from the world, from everyone. All he needed was a day; 24 hours of just being alone in the company of silence, of not having to pretend to be someone he wasn't, of not trying to _become_ someone he would never be.

Just one day. Tomorrow, at midnight, he would be able to take up the mask again; he would be able to face the world again. Tomorrow at midnight.

His phone rang. He listened to it beeping in his coat pocket and ignored it. After five rings, it stopped. After ten seconds, it began ringing again.

With a vicious curse, Lyle snatched the flat device and glared at the screen: _Incoming Call from Setsuna F. Seiei_. He swore again, jabbed the 'voice only' option and picked it up.

"Yeah, what?" he demanded, doing his best to smooth out his voice and ease the agitation in his mind, but not succeeding as well as he would have liked. So he pushed away from the door, kicked off his shoes and walked into his apartment, hoping some movement would help. The last thing he needed was for Celestial Being to know how he was _this_ close to snapping.

"Ian is making some new adjustments to Cherudim," Setsuna replied, blunt and straight to the point as ever, bless his soul if he had one. "He's requesting that you return early to test it."

"How early?" Lyle asked, relieved that his tone was more casual now. He skipped the beer anyways and headed straight to his room. His hand was on the knob when he paused and glanced over his shoulder to the second door. It wouldn't hurt to check, would it?

"Ian says as early as possible," Setsuna was saying as Lyle turned and headed to his work room.

Lyle gave a grunt. "We really don't get paid enough for what we do," he muttered, pushing open the door. The first thing that caught his attention was the television, running just as he had left it. The monitor above the bed was similarly unchanged, the waves flowing in the slow, steady depiction of a man's heart in coma.

As his eyes scanned the dark room, he went on, "Alright, I'll be back by – "

Maybe it was the miniscule rush of air, or the sound of a single footstep on the wooden floor from behind that alerted him. He should have already been spinning around, reaching for the gun tucked under his coat, but the command was delayed somewhere in his weary mind and he was only half-turned when something struck him hard across the side of his head and he went down in a dizzy spiral of green and white flashes.

-.-.-

Having lost his balance to the momentum, he fell against the wall, bracing himself with his shoulder. His leg was shaking, withered muscles unable to independently hold his weight. His heart thumped loudly and rapidly in his chest, the blood rushing to circulate at a rate it was still unused to doing. Breathing was a labour and staying focused more so. He didn't know if the darkness was to attribute for his blurred and hazy vision.

"Lockon?" He jerked at the voice. "What happened? Respond, Lockon."

His head swivelled, searching for the source. Several words were glowing on a black digital screen, lying beside the fallen man. He ignored the intruder, his focus fixed solely on the phone and the voice that came from it. Pushing away from the wall, he shuffled across the room half bent, using his hand and foot to keep his balance. He still stumbled and landed with a wince on his side, but the phone was now right in front of him.

The voice was still speaking, growing louder and more insistent. "Lockon! What's happening? Lockon!"

Pushing himself to his knees, he picked up the phone with a shaking hand. "…Setsuna?" It hurt to talk, his throat dry and itching. His voice sounded hoarse, on the verge of cracking; it was like listening to a stranger talk. Was that really his voice?

"Lockon!" the reply sounded relieved, but an undertone of worry still vibrated under it. Worried and insecure, but unwilling to let it show lest it be seen as a weakness.

A moment of such clarity opened in his mind, unlike any he had experienced in recently days. The kid hadn't changed at all. He smiled a little at the thought, parched lips straining at the movement. Then the smile turned into a low chuckle, deep and resonating, a fragmented resemblance to a laughter from far in the past.

"Say Setsuna, did you remember to drink your – "

He didn't get any further.

-.-.-

_Get up!_ a voice shouted.

_Leave me alone, damnit, I'm tired._

_Someone_ knocked you out _if you haven't noticed! There's an intruder standing right behind you! _

_I don't care…_

_What about _Neil_?!_

Lyle snapped his eyes open and was moving before the dizziness had even receded. Someone was talking, and that was enough to provide him with enough information on where to strike. At least his ears were still faithful.

Rolling over his back, he threw his leg out and caught the intruder firmly in his side with his knee. With surprising ease, he crumbled with a pained grunt and Lyle used the rest of his momentum to heave himself upright, pinning the man down with his weight.

The phone skittered out of the trespasser's hand, with Setsuna still shouting on the other end, and Lyle stamped his left foot onto the arm, his right knee digging into the man's back with enough force to bruise. One hand pulled out the gun and pressed it against the intruder's head while the other went to pick up the discarded phone.

The words on the screen were still a bit of a blur.

"Lockon – "

"Setsuna, I'll call you back," Lyle said, and quickly hung up. Without the light of the phone, the room appeared several shades darker. Or was he still just suffering from the head blow?

"Now then," he proclaimed, allowing his voice to drop colder. "What have we here? Peacekeeper? Possibly an agent from the Federation? Kataron? I thought Klaus would know better than to make you sneak up on me, but anyways. I'm not very patient today, so it'll be wise to speak up quickly, mate."

Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing. Lye ground his teeth in annoyance. Really, some people only understood through pain. Switching the gun to his left hand, he reached out with his right to grab the man's wrist and try to bully him into talking with a twisted arm.

But his hand only met air where there should have been an arm and he froze. Blindly, he groped in the dark and finally found the end of the right shoulder, rounded and wrapped in bandages.

His eyes shot up to the bed and he could just about make out the monitoring screen. It was functioning normally. Then this couldn't be him. It had to be an outside intruder, maybe coincidentally missing am arm, because the monitor was showing the heart rate of his comatose brother –

Unless…

"_Haro,__" he had once asked the small, round robot, "who does the maintenance for you?" _

"_Lockon always did! Lockon always did!"_

Lyle almost jumped off the figure beneath him, but caught himself on time. He needed light, but he wouldn't take the risk of being mistaken. He contemplated throwing the gun, thought better of it, and threw the phone instead. It hit the light switch with perfect accuracy and the room was suddenly bathed in a blinding white.

The man under him was indeed missing a right arm. A quick look over his shoulder also confirmed an amputated left leg.

"_Shit_," he hissed, immediately reeling back onto his feet and stepping away from the figure on the floor, the gun falling forgotten from his grip. He covered the length of the room in two and a half strides and tossed the covers off the bed. It was empty. The monitor was still running, just as it had been tweaked to do, he realised.

"Shit," he growled again, spun around to return to the crippled man, but came face to face with the barrel of a gun instead.

He swore a third time in his head, but it was by far, the loudest and crudest. For the first time in over fifteen years, Lyle saw his brother standing and moving, even if he was swaying on his single foot, his left hand barely able to hold the weapon steady. For the first time in almost three years, he saw his brother's face, not in sleep, but as a wake man's face with eyes open and narrowed, though his right was a shade of dull smoked grey and his left was so unfocused Lyle doubted he saw much through it.

"Nii-san," he said, surprised by the calm voice he managed to produce despite his inner turmoil. He took a step forward, his movements slow, but Neil's hand tightened around the gun.

"Neil," Lyle tried instead. "Neil Dylandy."

No reaction, save the finger tensing over the trigger. If he watched close enough, the movement of Neil's muscles were so large and undefined that he though he could predict his brother's actions. But he wasn't sure he'd be able to dodge the blast in his current state, and so chose to refrain from taking the risk.

An idea struck.

"Lockon," he said, raising his voice and articulating the sounds as much as possible. He took another step forward. "Lockon Stratos."

For an instant, the heavy cloud was lifted from Neil's eye and he blinked, the focus returning for just that one instant. Recognition, surprise, disbelief, and horror all passed through his eyes in that second, so fleetingly that Lyle would only later be able to reflect on what they had been.

The gun slipped from his slack hand, landing with a heavy thud on the floor, and with that, the moment passed. Neil tipped too far forward and his dulled reactions were not fast enough to stop the fall.

"Nii-san!" Lyle shouted, lurching forward to catch him as he collapsed. With a jolt, he realised how thin and light his brother was, frail and sick and helpless and so, so vulnerable. The image of how easily he had been able to overpower him came to the forefront of his mind; the shaking, wheezing man crumbled on the floor under him; the desperate look in his eyes when he had been pointing the gun at Lyle had been the eyes of a hunted prey.

This boneless, pitiable man in his arms.

This wasn't the brother he knew. This wasn't the brother he had dreamed of catching up to. This wasn't the Lockon everyone spoke of with admiration and sorrow.

This wasn't the brother he had wanted to be acknowledged by.

Lyle sank to his knees, careful not to cause too much of a jostle. Neil shifted, his eyes searching, but unseeing. He was slipping back into unconsciousness.

"I'm here," Lyle said on impulse. "I'm right here, Nii-san."

Mismatched eyes drifted closed, though pale lips parted one last time, his voice so quiet the noise from the television in the corner almost drowned it out.

"…Lyle…?"

And then he was gone, no longer in the range of hearing Lyle's short string of whispered curses; no longer in the vicinity to see the silent tears well in the back of his eyes; and no longer in the enclosure to feel the arms tightening around his body.

"Nii-san…" he breathed almost silently, the words falling thoughtlessly from his lips. "Nii-san…Nii-san…"

And he wondered…was this the brother he had always loved?


	6. Of ‘Lockon Stratos’ and Living up to it

**A/N: **I get this feeling from reading the reviews that many of you were expecting a far longer story, and...err, I'm not. As I've mentioned earlier, I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and posted it up onto LiveJournal, so it's not as if I'm deliberately cutting it short. I'm sorry!  
In other words, this is the last chapter.

On a side note, there **will** be an **EPILOGUE** sometime in the future, but I haven't written it yet, so I don't know when I'll be posting it. If you're interested, please keep checking back once in a while!

A quick message to mousek (I'm just replying here, since I can't use 's review reply option ):  
Thanks for taking the time to read this! Since, as you said, we aren't privy to Lyle's thoughts in the anime, I'm sure a lot of the things I've written are ridiculously wrong about his character, but yeah...I have an exuse ^^; It's brilliant really, since I never wrote 'milk', and yet everyone knows exactly what Neil was _going_ to say. hehe. I'm not sure if I'll include the other Meisters, but I think Setsuna is at least a little suspicious. Anyways, thanks again for the wonderful review!!

Thank you all for reading/reviewing along!

**Of 'Lockon Stratos' and Living up to it**

It was one of those rare nights when his dreams were not be filled with phantom pains, of cold hard walls and floors pressing into him, of twisted laughter and bruising fingers around his throat. Neither were they filled with the _nothingness_ that could only be described by those who had lived through it.

He was dreaming of their childhood, of warm summers in the fields of Ireland. The sun was shining, vast nimbus clouds floating on the horizon, the gentle breeze driving the unbearable heat away. The air was filled with laughter; smiles in every direction; voices full of joyfulness and life.

"_Onii-chan!" _

"_Nii-san!" _

He scooped little Amy in his arms, and she clung to his head, giggling. He reached out with his other hand and playfully ruffled Lyle's hair, only to be swatted away with a half-hearted pouting scowl.

They laughed together.

.-.-.

It wasn't dark anymore when he opened his eyes again. Grey light slithered through the heavy blinds of the window, bathing the room in a monochrome. How long had it been since he had last been awake? He didn't remember much of what had happened, other than that something _had_ happened.

He let it be. It would come back to him in time – they always did.

The ceiling had become somewhat familiar to him as he had awakened to it several times now. It was familiar in its foreign way. He had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten here – only that his wounds had been treated and someone had cared for him enough to keep him alive.

Yesterday, or whenever he had last woken up, had been the first time he had felt strong enough to move. Removing the IV needles had been quick work. Resetting the heart-rate monitor had been tedious, but not difficult. Standing up had been surprisingly problematic and the inability to move around had been sickening.

Understandably so. If the date shown in the top corner of the television screen was correct, several years had passed without him knowing it. Several years spent…dreaming.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side, and could make out the figure of someone sitting on the floor, his back to the bed. He blinked, allowing his optical nerves to adjust at its own pace, until he could recognise the sleeping face beside him.

Lye dozed with one arm propped up on a bent knee, his head leaning against the crook of his elbow.

Neil found that he was not surprised to see his brother there. The fact that he did not know _why_ he was not surprised didn't seem to disturb him either. It was a simple acceptance to which he would perhaps later find the answer to.

For now, it did not matter.

Raising his hand, he reached over and gently draped his fingers on Lyle's hair. A small jerk told him the touch had roused his brother from his sleep, but Lyle made no further movement. Neil cast his eyes to the ceiling again.

"You've grown," he said quietly.

"It's been 17 years," Lyle replied in an equally quiet voice. Without moving his head, he glanced at clock portrayed on the television screen. 17:29.

"How've you been?" Neil asked.

"Fine…thanks to you."

"Did you go to college?"

"What else was I meant to do with the amount of money you sent me?" Neil didn't answer the question, but Lyle hadn't been expecting him to.

"What did you study?"

"Business and Management."

"And then?"

"I did my Masters, then got into a top-class trading company."

"Did you like it?"

Lyle shrugged. "It wasn't anything I'd put my heart and soul into."

"When did you quit?"

"Three years ago."

There was a pause.

"Did you get the car?"

"The Lancia? It's down in the garage."

Neil breathed a smile. There was a pause again, stretching longer this time, and for several seconds, only the low drone of the newscaster filled the room. Neil was the first to break the silence.

"Did you hate me, Lyle?" he asked, easing his eyes closed for a moment. "For sending you strange things…for pushing my selfish expectations on you…for never seeing you?"

Lyle stared at the floor for a long time without replying. Then he lifted a hand and placed it against Neil's for a second before pushing it off his head. He heard and felt it land against the mattress, but Neil said nothing.

"I joined Celestial Being," Lyle said at last.

"I know," Neil replied. He didn't know _how_ he knew, but the fact was real in his mind. It made sense, after all. Setsuna had been shouting for 'Lockon' before Neil had even spoken. Ah, there was that missing memory. "When?"

"Almost half a year ago. Setsuna told me about you." Then as an afterthought, he added, "They still think you're dead."

"I'm as good as dead. How is everyone?"

"Dead people don't talk. They miss you…in many ways. Tiera still won't call me 'Lockon'."

"My life as a pilot ended years ago." Then he smiled. "Tiera's a stubborn one, but he means well."

"If you're referring to your disability, modern medicine is the charm. It makes me wonder what you did to get past that brick wall surrounding him."

"It's been too long. I only knocked; he came out on his own."

"The world hasn't changed." He hesitated, knowing he should comment about something else, about Tiera or Allelujah or Setsuna or Sumeragi or Feldt, but he found his thoughts narrowing into one single topic. "It's still the same as five years ago. You started out on a job and you haven't finished it. Isn't it your responsibility as – "

"Lyle," Neil cut in, "I'm not 'Lockon Stratos' anymore."

Lyle closed his parted mouth and frowned at his feet. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and shake his brother until he understood. This wasn't about being dead or not dead, about being fit enough to pilot or Gundam or not. Neil didn't understand – he hadn't seen their reactions, hadn't felt their eyes, hadn't experienced the height of their expectations.

"I'm not 'Lockon Stratos' either," he muttered bitterly. He hadn't been able to carry the weight of that name.

Neil silently stared at the ceiling, his brother's words ringing in his ears. He closed his left eye and the world turned black.

"I'm sorry."

"Ali-Al-Saachez isn't dead, you know."

His eye snapped open, and for a fraction of a second, he was in that cell again, bound and chocked. His body tensed, his fist clenched and teeth braced against each other to stifle the scream that rose in his throat. A low growling voice was growing distant in his head until it faded altogether and he blinked at the ceiling again. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck as his muscles slowly relaxed once more.

"I know," Neil said.

Lyle felt a pang of guilt for the strain in his twin's voice but he wasn't going to back down now.

"He's still out there killing the innocent as we speak." Neil _had_ to see what he was pointing at, even if he himself didn't know what it was. "Your sacrifice was in vain." Was he being too harsh? "You never got your revenge! You – "

"That's enough, Lyle."

Lyle spun around, fingers curled into fists, frustration flashing in his narrowed eyes as they glared down at the man before him. There was so much he wanted this man to know, to understand, so much he wanted to tell, to show, to _be_ _understood_. So many things that could not be said in a thousand sentences that could be conveyed in a single word.

"_Nii-san_ – !"

Neil's eye was firm, meeting the desperation in the face of the man above him and holding it steady.

"I'm not going to take your place as 'Lockon Stratos'," he said.

Lyle faltered, his eyes widening at the realisation. Was that what he had wished for? For Neil to relieve him of the misery? For Neil to return to Celestial Being and take up the place that was rightfully his?

He sank onto his heels, face shifting to stare down at the sheets crumpled in his hands.

"I still can't reach your sniping records," he muttered softly.

"Records are meaningless," Neil responded. "They don't correlate with skill at all."

"They won't stop looking at me as if expecting to see someone else."

"They'll stop once you stop trying to meet their expectations."

"I never was."

"You just never noticed."

"And you did?"

"Somewhat."

Lyle was silent, knowing better than to doubt his brother's words. Neil shifted, drawing his arm back and pushing himself slowly upright. Drawn by the movement, Lyle looked up again and was captured by the one-eyed gaze.

"Why did you join Celestial Being, Lyle?" his brother asked, and he knew immediately that it wasn't a rhetorical question. Why?

"I…"

Why?

He had thought…

He had wanted to…

He had wished for…

He had chosen to…

…_what_?

"Did you forget?" Neil inquired, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them: _Were you too caught up in trying to become 'Lockon Stratos' to forget the reason you joined?_

Had he? Lyle could only ask himself. A snide voice in the back of his head was scoffing. What was he doing? Why had he become so weak? Hadn't he hardened his resolve when he had first left to become a Meister? Hadn't he stepped out from Neil's shadow during those long years they had been separated?

Lyle told it to shut up. Just today, just now, just this moment, just in the presence of this man, he promised to himself, he wanted to be honest.

"The man who can snipe beyond the stratosphere," Neil said, and he looked up questioningly. Neil smiled a little. "That's 'Lockon Stratos', nothing more, nothing less."

Lyle stared at him and he just smiled back, not as bright and innocent and ear-stretching as it had been years ago, but just as gentle, just as caring.

"Code name 'Lockon Stratos', the man who can snipe beyond the stratosphere. You chose to change the world."

.-.-.

At 19:10, Lyle opened the door to his work station to find Neil still sitting up, propped against a pile of pillows and staring at the wall. He looked up when he entered and gave him a brief smile.

"You're leaving?"

Lyle nodded. "I've organised a private doctor to come visit you tomorrow. He's not with the government or Kataron, so you can trust him; I've known him for a long time."

"Thanks."

Lyle hesitated. He'd left some food and water on a table beside the bed and the doctor would be bringing a wheelchair with him the next day. A spare key was lying on his desk and he'd brought out some of his clothes if Neil wanted to change. He had offered to leave a credit chip, but his brother had refused it.

"I don't know when I'll be back next…"

"I know. Don't worry about me. You focus on what needs to be done."

Lyle nodded and turned around, pulling the door closed behind him. When it was almost shut, he paused.

"You asked if I'd hated you," he said and went on without waiting for a response. "I only hated you for lying."

_I'll be right back, Lyle. _

"I'm sorry," he heard Neil mutter.

"Nii-san?" he began, hesitated a second, and then asked, "was I a brother you could be proud of?"

Neil was smiling, he could feel it.

"Yes."

Lyle lifted his gaze from the floor and stared straight ahead, his shoulders drawing back as he stood a little taller, the weight a little lighter to bear. He found himself smiling.

"Thank you."

_~fin~ _


End file.
